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much we did was new experience, then repeat, like cricket in the street. New found friends, five doors up, called your name each summer day to play the game of gentlemen. Fruit box, bat'n'ball on grey charcoal coloured tar, delineated by grassy strips and concrete kerbs, marked the pitch for play. Blamed at times for windows shattered, year in and out we bowled and batted until grown up. Gone and scattered, to score no doubt, life’s greater runs and fame. Rules of the game stay the same, over the fence scores six and out but never off a mullygrubber.
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